Frozen
by JenniferJF
Summary: My first Sanctuary story. Helen told Will "I kept the embryo frozen for over a century until I could bear the loneliness no longer." Why exactly did Helen finally bring Ashley to term? Sanctuary Fanfiction Awards Nominee 2008
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This is my first Sanctuary fic, so it's a bit of a step-off for me. Started with a conversation between myself and Astraperaspera and became this fic. Thanks to her, Pengyn, Solo and Babncat for the edits. (I didn't need that many betas, just that much confidence.)_

* * *

Escaped gases curled above the surface of the frozen liquid, only occasionally thinning and parting to reveal what lay submerged beneath. Yet those brief glimpses were enough to keep her coming back here to this most secret of places in what was already one of the most secret of places. Her inner sanctum. The vast, poorly lit room contained only one object - a large barrel-shaped apparatus with a transparent lid connected to the wall by a series of wires and pipes. Yet inevitably, the small canister within would call her back, demanding her attention. It was her greatest treasure; it represented her greatest fear.

She shouldn't keep it. She knew that, logically. There was no reason. Yet even in those early darkest days when the self-recrimination and the grief and pain had been nearly overwhelming and she'd been faced with decisions no one should ever have to make, she couldn't destroy it. For years she'd tried to tell herself - had possibly even succeeded in convincing herself - that it was her father's influence. The small bundle of cells was, after all, potentially useful and might one day be needed. There was no reason to destroy what could so easily be kept secure and protected. It was what she _did_, and personal sensibilities shouldn't be allowed to interfere.

Only that had never been the reason. With time had come wisdom and a freedom from self-deception or, at least, gradually decreasing self-deception, until she'd finally managed a measure of honesty with herself.

She wanted this child. This _specific _baby - not just any one. Despite all the dangers and the risks of what might happen if somehow, against all reason and probability, he survived and should ever find out. Despite knowing that carrying it to term would open up old emotional wounds so deep and traumatic they had never properly healed. Because by now she'd had plenty of other opportunities, and even other offers. For while he had been the first, his hadn't been the only bed she'd shared. Yet none had been like him - none had made her feel even one fraction as alive as she had felt in those early glorious months or come close to soothing the pain which had become her constant companion in his place. He still owned the heart he had destroyed, and no matter how long she lived she would always love him. And he was forever lost to her.

But she could have his child. The embryo held frozen in that canister she could barely see was a part of him, just as it was a part of her. And while it could never replace him, at times like this when the walls of her Sanctuary became more prison than protection, she knew it held the key to ending her loneliness. At least then maybe something - some_one_ - good might come from it all.

It was the reason she kept coming back here: the best of them both, all their hopes and promise combined. But no one knew better than she that there were no guarantees. His offspring might also inherit the worst. And that was a chance she could not take. It was the reason she had never _acted_. Only dreamed. And hoped. And wished for the strength and courage to do more.

Until now.

It had started with a phone call, not much more than a week ago.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Dr. Magnus? Dr. Helen Magnus?"

"Speaking."

"_The _Dr. Magnus?"

"As far as I know I'm the only one." She was, for good or evil, used to such unusual phone calls at all hours of the day or night.

"The Dr. Magnus who is.. Who runs… I've heard of a place called Sanctuary?"

Helen smiled, hoping the other woman would hear it in her voice. "Yes. That's me."

The relief in the voice on the other end of the line was palpable. "Thank God. I had no idea where to turn… what to do… I need… I don't…"

Helen cut the other woman off before her panic became absolute. "Please. Slow down. Lets take this one step at a time. I assume you called because you have a 'situation' with which you think I may be, shall we say, specially qualified to help?"

"Yes." The voice seemed calmer now, more rational. "Exactly."

"Good. Now, are you in immediate danger?"

"No. I mean.. it's not even me…" Her panic rising again, the woman took a deep breath before continuing. "It's my son, Justin. He's… Ever since his father died he's… I can't…"

Helen interrupted. Long experience told her there were faster ways. "Can we meet somewhere to talk? If you would give me your address? Or you could come here?"

"Yes. That would be good. I mean.. here. That's perfect."

Helen reached for a pen and proceeded to note the address the woman gave her. "I can be there in under an hour. Will that be alright?"

This time, she could hear the deep sigh of relief. "Yes. Perfect. Thank you, Dr. Magnus."

"You're more than welcome. I'll be there shortly." And, after returning the phone to it's cradle Helen stood up and headed for the door.

_-to be continued in Chapter 2_


	2. Chapter 2

With her connections, Helen had had no difficulty obtaining the security camera footage. Though the video she was looking at was fuzzy and unclear, it's meaning was not. Justin's mother Stella had been correct. Her son had been responsible for the string of convenience store robberies stumping the local police. And his actions were becoming increasingly more dangerous and self-destructive as the authorities failed to contain or control him. She could understand why. Even on the poor quality tape, Justin's speed as he pulled a gun on the clerk, grabbed the money pulled from the register, and rushed from the store was astonishing. And well beyond normal. Which would, of course, explain why the police had failed to gain any ground on the case. In her experience they were nearly incapable of seeing, let alone understanding, evidence beyond the unexpected.

According to Stella, Justin's father had provided the external discipline most teenagers needed to form the protective barrier behind which they could safely explore their ever expanding adult world. This need was even more profound for abnormals, and with his father's death, Justin had found himself suddenly adrift in a world too big for him to safely handle. And like so many teens before him, he had turned to ever increasingly destructive behaviors as a method of demanding the discipline no one seemed willing or able to provide. Only for an abnormal, the results were so much worse and so much more dangerous than for otherwise normal teens.

Justin's mother, who had relied on her husband to control their son, had turned to Helen for assistance as had so many before her and Helen was determined, as always, not to let her down. However, the surveillance tape she was currently viewing did little but confirm what Stella had already told her. It was useless to simply know where Justin had been. She needed to figure out where he was going. His mother hadn't seen him in over two weeks and this seemed the only sure way to contact him.

She glanced at the paper sitting on the dark mahogany desktop in front of her with its list of dates and locations. Pushing up from her chair, she stepped towards one of the many bookcases lining the walls of her office and, after a brief search, found the volume she'd been seeking. She sat back down and leafed through the atlas until she'd found a map of the area of the city she needed and circled each location. Then she circled the location of Justin's home. She stared at the map for several long minutes, hoping to find reason and predictability in the seemingly random markings.

But no discernible pattern emerged. At least not to her. Not for the first time she wished for someone on staff expert at this sort of thing. For now, though, she'd have to make do with what she had. Slipping a sheet of crisp ivory stationary from the top right drawer she wrote on it for several moments before pressing the small button partially concealed under the rim of her desk. Within seconds - so quickly it was almost scary - her large hairy manservant appeared at the door. She held the paper up for him.

As he stepped forward to take it she explained, "Please send that to James."

He nodded wordlessly, but as he left the room she might have heard him mumble something under his breath about eccentrics who refused to use modern conveniences. She smiled to herself as she tended to agree with his opinion. However, as not more than twenty minutes had passed before she received a return telegraph from James giving his best guess for the time and place of Justin's next three robberies, she had to admit that, when the eccentric in question was Sherlock Holmes and one was in desperate need of a solution, certain eccentricities were not such terrible obstacles after all.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

She was too late. That much had been obvious the moment she'd stepped into the shop. And not just too late arriving on this particular scene.

The shop assistant was dead. The acrid smell of blood and death had assaulted her the moment she'd stepped inside; the gaping hole where his chest had been finished the tale long before she'd failed to find any trace of a pulse. She was certain, too, that Justin had killed him. James couldn't have been that wrong. Which brought this problem to an entirely new level. No longer simply armed robbery, the case had now become a murder investigation. And the boy, hardly more than a child, had become a killer.

Helen heard the scream of sirens and almost immediately the darkness outside was set ablaze in slashes of blue and white and red. The police had arrived. Straightening up and turning towards the door, Helen prepared to meet them.

Facing the authorities was easy. Facing Justin's mother would be another matter entirely.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

This time, Helen wasn't too late. She arrived earlier in the evening to find the shop assistant very much alive, though by all appearances bored nearly to death, behind the counter of the 7-11. He hardly spared her a glance as she stepped into the store and, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, moved slowly but steadily down the aisle towards the freezers at the back of the store.

Careful to keep the wide-brimmed hat she wore positioned so as to keep her face shadowed from the obviously hidden-cameras, she pretended to peruse the alcohol-laden shelves as though having difficulty finding her favorite brand. Long moments passed in this manner until Helen herself was as bored as the cashier had looked. This waiting was the one aspect of her work she truly loathed but, having never managed to engage suitably capable and trustworthy assistants, she always ended back on the hunt herself.

Finally, though, her patience paid off. The bell over the front door chimed duly and Justin, his form and shape familiar to her from countless surveillance tapes, stepped into the shop. He moved quickly - but not _abnormally_ so - towards the front counter. She moved to intercept him, arriving in front of the store at about the same time he did.

She spoke just as he was reaching for the gun she knew he had concealed within the folds of his large dark overcoat. "Justin." Her quiet voice speaking his name, so close and so unexpected beside him, stopped him in mid-motion. He turned to look at her. The mixture of rage and guilt in the eyes which looked into her own - all too familiar in their painful intensity - nearly undid her. Yet she showed none of this to the young man standing beside her. "Your mother asked me to find you."

"My…?" His confusion was complete.

"She loves you, Justin. And she wants you to be safe."

"Safe?" He asked incredulously. Then he repeated, his tone grown hard and bitter, "Safe?"

Helen simply nodded, hoping her words would sink in. Knowing further words might send him over the edge.

But it was too late, as she had feared. "There is no _safe_." He spat the words more than said them.

She shook her head. "Yes, there is. I can help you. If you'll…"

He cut her off with a gesture around them at the nearly empty store. "Look around, lady. Do you know what I've done? There is no safe. Not for --"

His words were cut off by the all too familiar screeching of sirens and blazing of lights outside. The clerk must have triggered a hidden alarm, and they were out of time. Helen reached out her hand for him. "Justin, please."

He glanced down at the offered hand, and then back up to meet her eyes. His were filled with such anguish that she knew what he had planned possibly before he was certain himself.

"No!" she cried, reaching forward to grab him as she spoke. But she was too late. Her hand closed on empty space. And he was racing back out the front door.

From inside the store, she couldn't hear the words of the police outside, or what, if anything, Justin said in return. For her, there was simply a moment of silence punctuated by the occasional squawk of a siren.

Before the gunfire.

They hadn't been shooting to kill, but despite being shot in the leg Justin had pulled his gun and rushed forward. The cops had no choice but to continue to shoot. And of everyone there at the scene, only Helen knew what none other did. Even there, at the end, Justin could have gotten away. His abilities made that more than possible. Yet he had chosen not to, had chosen the path he must have known could lead to only one place.

She had failed him. And she had failed his mother. And she had failed herself. But it wasn't her first failure, and certainly wouldn't be her last. And none knew better than she how to pick up the pieces and put them back together and move on.

Still, much later, as she waited in the police station lobby for Stella to finish identifying her son's remains, she wished she had gotten as good at helping others do the same. Helen dreaded the conversation and explanations she knew to be inevitable.

_- continued in Chapter 3_


	3. Chapter 3

Perhaps what astonished Helen the most about mankind was that even after living more than a hundred and twenty-five years amongst them, men and women had never ceased to surprise her. This was never more true than when she finally had a chance to sit and speak with Stella concerning the death of her son.

It wasn't the extent of the other woman's grief which was surprising, however. Stella hurt every bit as much as Helen was certain she herself would under the circumstances. And it wasn't even that she failed to overtly blame Helen for Justin's death. Helen's were sins of omission rather than commission and, while she knew she might have prevented the tragedy, she was wise enough to know most reasonable people, even a distraught mother, would not hold her primarily accountable for what had occurred.

No, what Helen had not expected was what came at the very end of the conversation, as she was preparing to leave. Stella was walking her towards the front door, and with this new perspective on her gait Helen became certain of what she had only suspected before. She paused for a moment in the hallway, forcing the other woman to stop and turn to face her.

Pointing towards the other woman's slightly swollen abdomen, she asked, "How far along are you?"

Stella laughed, a sad unamused little sound, and patted her belly. "Is it that obvious?"

Helen smiled gently. "Probably only to me."

"It's my husband's, if that's what you're asking," the woman answered, her tone slightly defensive.

Helen shook her head, "No, that's not it. I was just.. Wondering…" She wasn't sure how to proceed over such difficult terrain. "Have you considered…? The child might be…"

Stella's voice became oddly more calm as she nodded. "Yes."

"I could help. There are ways we could test. It's not too late… With your husband gone…"

The other woman's eyes grew wide with sudden understanding. Her hand clenched her abdomen protectively. Reflexively. "No. Absolutely not." There was no mistaking the absolute certainty in her tone.

Helen tried to explain. "It's just that, after what happened, I thought maybe you wouldn't want to risk…" She could sense she was getting nowhere and decided to retreat. "Are you sure you can handle it?" she asked gently.

The other woman smiled, the look on her face so full of joy and certainty that Helen suddenly felt as though their relative ages and positions had been reversed. "Doctor Magnus, you can never be sure. That's just what life _is_."

And at that moment Helen knew, with the absolute conviction of sudden revelation, that she had finally been shown her way.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Which was why, for the first time since she had assembled the cryogenics cabinet which now stood before her, she hadn't come to this chamber alone. And she wasn't going to leave empty-handed. Or, more accurately, if everything went according to plan, she wasn't going to leave _empty_. So she waited, more or less patiently, while Doctor Murray, on loan from the UK Sanctuary, oversaw the assemblage of the necessary medical equipment.

As the workmen were finishing up, he turned to face her. "Are you absolutely sure about this, Helen?"

Even as they spoke a technician was draining the liquid from the apparatus, beginning preparations for the procedure to come. With the lid opened and the liquid removed, Helen finally had her first fully unobstructed view of the small canister in nearly a century. She turned to Murray and nodded.

She was absolutely certain.

It was time for the thawing to begin.


End file.
